


Some Other Beginning's End

by merriman



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Bad Ideas, Destined to End Poorly, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/pseuds/merriman
Summary: Word travels fast in the Watchers - Marcus Constantine has a sarcophagus on the way from Egypt. Methos knows what that means, and it's nothing good.





	Some Other Beginning's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/gifts).



> This got a little more bleak than I'd really intended, but then it is based heavily in the actual episode Pharaoh's Daughter, so I should have known better, really.
> 
> Amy Zoll is mentioned in the Watcher Chronicle DVD extras throughout the series and the mention of Marcus' Classicist Poker Nights is from the Watcher Chronicle DVD extras on, I believe, Forgive Us Our Trespasses. Both "Adam" and Amy Zoll are said to have been regular attendees.

While no one was really keeping tabs on Adam Pierson, Watcher researcher and Methos scholar, he couldn't just go talking to whoever he wanted. After all, even if none of his fellows would be writing in a Chronicle about him, the same couldn't be said of other Immortals. There was most certainly someone watching Darius and MacLeod and Marcus and every other Immortal in the city. This posed a not inconsiderable obstacle to Methos when he actually had need to meet with someone. 

There was always the phone, of course. Wonderful invention. Revolutionary, even. Methos loved the telephone. The thing was, sometimes you just needed to meet someone in person to truly impress upon them how utterly idiotic they were being. Some situations just needed that extra personal touch that required face to face communication. You couldn't really get the impact of a good glare over the phone.

Fortunately for Methos, Marcus Constantine's current Watcher, Vincent, was frequently absent from his post. Methos didn't know where he was and he didn't particularly care. What he did care about was that Marcus had something large and expensive on the way to Paris from Egypt. 

"Please don't tell me that you've found what I think you've found," Methos said when they sat down in an out of the way cafe he knew none of the Watchers in the city frequented. When you were hiding out with them, you had to keep track of things like that.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marcus told him. He leaned back a little in his seat and Methos narrowed his eyes. That was a tell. Classicist Poker Nights at the museum with Marcus and Amy Zoll and a few of the other museum staff had given Methos plenty of time to observe his old friend and that was definitely a tell. He was bluffing.

"Of course you do," Methos muttered. "Is it her?"

Marcus didn't answer, which was more than enough for Methos to conclude that he'd been right. 

"I cannot believe you," he continued. "Please tell me you're not planning on actually waking her up. She's going to kill you. She'll probably try to strangle you with her own wrappings."

Now Marcus rolled his eyes and Methos rolled his too because this wasn't a game he was about to lose. Over the centuries that he'd known Marcus he'd had occasion to hear plenty about Nefertiri. Get Marcus deep enough in his cups and he'd tell you all about her. About how beautiful she'd been, how passionate, how right about everything. He'd also tell you about how he'd betrayed her and left her to die. Which was a _ton_ of fun to hear about when you just wanted to get a little tipsy and catch up on hundred-year-old gossip.

"How do you even know I found anything?" Marcus asked eventually. "I've told no one but my assistant at the museum. And all he knows is that a sarcophagus is coming in."

Tricky, but Methos had gotten this far without actually telling any of his friends or acquaintances about the Watchers, so he just shrugged.

"I have my ways and means," he muttered. "I keep my ear to the ground and word about a newly uncovered sarcophagus being bought by a museum in Paris? That's some good dirt in the world of antiquities and artifacts." And Watchers. The speculation had been all over the map, but eventually settled on it just being a piece of Marcus' own history that he'd wanted close by. Really, someone should have been reading up on Marcus' time in Egypt, but the scholarship shown by some of the Watchers these days was amazingly shoddy. And his Watcher right now had even been in Research before! Bunch of amateurs, really. Methos had half a mind to figure out a way to lecture them all on it. 

Or maybe he'd just mess with the Chronicles and see how long it took someone to catch on. That was an option too.

But back to the matter at hand, which was that Marcus Constantine was a great big soft-hearted idiot who was going to get himself killed. It wasn't like Methos had that many friends still alive whom he was still friends with and wanted to speak to. 

"This is a horrible idea," Methos warned him.

"Adam, it's going to be fine," Marcus assured him. "Truly, I'm sure of it. I'll wake her and explain what's happened, how the world has changed, how I've changed. She'll understand."

"Oh, will she? She's been in there for two thousand years, Marcus. For her, what happened between you happened yesterday." Being dead didn't give you time to cool down, he knew that much from personal experience. Unfortunately.

Now they were at an impasse, staring at each other until a waiter came over with their drinks and they had something else to pay attention to. Methos tried to keep staring at Marcus in hopes he'd manage to bring the man to his senses, but Marcus could be a stubborn ass sometimes. Really, if this hadn't been a matter of Marcus possibly losing his head, Methos might have not bothered, let him learn his own lesson. But he owed Marcus for a few saves and besides, Marcus was married now. His wife was a very nice woman who sometimes even dropped in on the poker nights at the museum and cleaned up handily when everyone underestimated her. Methos liked Angela. She didn't deserve this mess.

"I'm just saying, be careful," Methos sighed. "If you're determined to bring her into the world now, be prepared for how hard it's going to be, even if she doesn't try to kill you." Or Angela, but hopefully Marcus would know better than to introduce them to each other. And that was assuming they even managed to say two words to each other before Nefertiri found a blade. She might even have been entombed with one. "And hide any knives or swords that might be nearby. Just in case."

Marcus glowered at Methos, the pointedly ignored him to sip his coffee.

"I can't just leave her like that," Marcus said softly after a while. "I owe it to her. It would only get worse and worse the longer she's left in there. For her sake, and mine, I need to do this, Adam. But I do thank you for the warning, as unnecessary as it is."

Methos wasn't so sure of that, but arguing with Marcus like this was like arguing with a brick wall. So he just nodded and sipped his own coffee and considered how best to keep out of the way if a murderously angry Egyptian woman from two thousand years ago decided to go on a rampage through Paris.

* * *

It all ended in tears. Of course it did. It had always been going to end in tears. Someone's tears, anyhow. Methos had just assumed it would be Angela's and/or Marcus'. He'd figured well, Nefertiri would come to, she'd be pissed as a wet cat, and she'd be looking to gut Marcus with the nearest possible blade. At best, he'd assumed Marcus would manage to fend her off long enough to get a few words in and maybe that would stall things a little once she knew how much time had passed. From there, it could have gone any number of ways, most involving someone dying or feeling betrayed.

Instead, it had somehow gone worse than he'd imagined. Marcus himself had almost died - which Methos had predicted. Marcus' Watcher was dead and Amy Zoll was beside herself trying to figure out who to put on him while she got to the bottom of how he'd gotten killed. Methos hadn't predicted that one, but he was beginning to suspect Vincent had not, perhaps, been the agent Amy had thought he was. He and Don and Amy had had a stiff drink when they'd gotten the news.

But then Angela was dead too. They didn't go to the funeral, which was a relief since Methos was pretty sure Duncan MacLeod would show up and that would be awkward as hell just to witness, let alone the near certainty of MacLeod being unsubtle enough to blow Methos' cover by coming over to introduce himself for no discernable reason - to mortals, that is. But no, they decided it was better to leave that sad business to others.

Amy and the other Classicist Poker Night regulars at the museum had all assumed that Marcus would cancel the regular game night that month, but then he didn't. Methos wasn't surprised. You learned to move on fast when you'd lived as long as Marcus. As long as Methos himself. You mourned, but you mourned while you moved. 

So they bought some good booze and they went to the museum after hours two weeks after Angela's death. Marcus let them in and they all drank and talked and everyone let Marcus win until he complained about it and one by one they all left.

"You coming?" Amy asked Methos. "I'll give you a ride."

"I've got my car," Methos told her. "I wanted to say a few things to Marcus."

She didn't question it. Thank goodness. That was a tarnished silver lining if ever he'd seen one. Once Amy was gone and it was just Methos and Marcus sitting there in Marcus' office, Marcus looked over at him, then poured another drink.

"It's very petty to say 'I told you so'," he noted.

"Wasn't going to," Methos said. And he hadn't been. It would be crass in a situation like this. "I was going to say I'm sorry. That Angela was wonderful and I know how this feels."

"What? How it feels when your ex murders your wife?"

Methos shrugged. "I've been married a lot. They didn't all end well." Stories for other times, perhaps, but not tonight. "Anyhow, I am sorry. Truly. About both of them."

"MacLeod's a meddling sap, but I can't say he was wrong to take Nefertiri's head. I just didn't have the heart," Marcus admitted.

Not many would. Methos knew that. He'd lectured friends over it before and he likely would again, but then was he any better? He could take someone else's problem ex's head, but what about his own? Maybe he'd never need to find out.

"To meddling saps who get things done," Methos said, lifting his glass. "And to Angela, who wiped me out last time we played cards."

Marcus raised his glass as well. "To Angela," Marcus agreed. "Never forgotten. I'll make sure of that."


End file.
